


Yes, Carrigan

by imbrem_aureum



Category: Casper (1995)
Genre: Age Difference, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, Daddy Issues, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbrem_aureum/pseuds/imbrem_aureum
Summary: Carrigan's father would turn in his grave if he knew how far Paul was willing to take his request to ‘look after’ his only daughter now he’d gone to that so-called better place.
Relationships: Carrigan Crittenden/Paul "Dibs" Plutzker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Yes, Carrigan

He caressed the luscious black silk clinging to Carrigan’s waist. Her father would turn in his grave if he knew how far Paul was willing to take his request to ‘look after’ his only daughter now he’d gone to that so-called better place. There could be no better place than here, however: Carrigan’s knees denting the sofa cushions either side of his head while he devoured her with his mouth. 

They’d been tied to one another a long time, though this exceedingly pleasant turn in their relationship was a relatively recent development. 

“Oh, Dibs...” Carrigan breathed, dragging her painted nails over his scalp. That was her nickname for him since she was a child, because Paul was one of daddy’s ‘money snatchers.’ Dibs! —That’s what one said when taking money from poor people’s pockets, what Carrigan said when she took it from her father’s, and now, what she said while riding her father’s attorney’s face.

Paul wasn’t an idiot. He knew this was another way for her to get back at daddy. Perhaps this was a way for Paul to get back at him, too. Twenty-five years of faithful service to the Crittenden family and not a penny. He was angry. Carrigan was angry, too. So they were angry together, clawing through Charles’s leftovers until they found the golden nugget. 

Carrigan liked to pretend she was impregnable, that not even Paul’s generous mouth could break down her walls. While she rocked her hips lazily against his mouth, she’d smoke, pour herself a glass of whiskey. Yet, despite how unmoved she hoped to appear, Paul knew better. Pressing kisses to the lush silhouette of her panties, tugging them aside with a thumb to dip his tongue inside her… well, her body told him what he needed to know. 

Another thing she enjoyed was telling him he could do better, and damnit, nothing got him harder than her belittling him. Nothing irritated him more in other settings, but being held helpless between her soft thighs, her insults felt… different.

“Pathetic,” she hissed, disappointment dripping from her voice when he craned his neck to breathe. Looking down at him, she swirled the dregs of her drink in her glass, ice cubes tinkling. “I almost think you don’t want to work for me anymore.”

“Of course I do,” Paul panted against her heat, breathing her in. 

“Then prove it.” 

He locked away the challenging look in her eyes—one eyebrow cocked, the demanding bitch—for when he’d need it later, bringing himself off in her bathroom like the pitiful excuse for a man he was. 

His twisted revenge was sucking her clit as her glass touched her lips. She gasped, legs shuddering. He imagined the whiskey spilling, liquid gold running down her chin, dripping between her breasts. That errant droplet might trickle lower beneath her dress, slide around her navel, then down to where his mouth worked. A treat from his mistress: one ice-cold drop that’d warmed as it traversed her body, mixed with the taste of her skin.

She was drenching him, and what he wouldn’t do to arch up into her, fuck her until she wept, and not the crocodile tears she gave her daddy when she wanted something. Real tears. Such a fantasy had him moaning, the sound tempting her hands around his crown, lifting him hard into her as she ground against his face. 

“You like that, Dibs?” she panted, knowing full well he couldn’t answer. He felt her dark, dirty laugh shake her body before she dropped his head, hers turned to where his erection threatened to break through his zipper. “You do, don’t you?”

Her single fingertip pressed him down when he tried lifting his head again. It held him there while their harsh breaths filled the otherwise silent room. She’d lifted her hips, her silken cunt just out of his reach, and he wanted it. Oh, he wanted it bad. He’d rather suffocate between her thighs than leave her unsatisfied. She simply smiled down at him however, still holding that finger to his forehead.

Did she want him to beg, was that it? 

“What’s the magic word?” she asked, tilting her head as though talking to a child.

“Please,” he panted, her taste on his lips not nearly enough. “Please, Carrigan.” He’d never been opposed to begging before.

She sank down again, whimpering when he tongued into her desperately, moaning endless thank yous against her flesh. That was what he wanted: Carrigan crumbling against him, because of him and only him, weakened for that singular moment that only he would see. She’d get her orgasm, and he’d get that split-second of selfish satisfaction over being the one to give it to her.

“Yeah… You’re… a good boy, huh.” 

Carrigan’s thumb traced his eyebrow, hand trembling, and that brief touch was the most intimate they’d shared. Paul came before he could calm himself, centre his thoughts from his pleasure and channel them to hers. Messing his trousers was shameful, would have her mocking him, lip curling in disgust, but… Carrigan hadn’t noticed, and she hadn’t noticed because—

He slid the length of his tongue inside her as she climaxed. And, Christ, how sublime that was. The wet, relaxed muscles of her cunt gripped him, throbbing in time with her gasps, her body slack enough that he had to hold her up by her waist. Being her foundation while she came, tasting it, feeling it flood his mouth, had more of his own hot come filling his pants, soaking him too. Without seeing, he knew his crotch would be as wet as Carrigan had left his mouth and chin, and what a state he’d be in when she was finished with him.

She was finished with him quickly it seemed, setting her dress straight as she stood, slipping her feet back into the glossy, black heels she’d stepped out of to take her seat. A cigarette was pinched between her lips. Her lighter clicked as she lit the tip. 

Paul wiped his face with his pocket square and sat up too, hoping she wouldn’t notice the dark stain at his groin. If she did, she might press him to the floor with her stiletto’s point, make him kiss her soles and beg her forgiveness, and wouldn’t that be… wonderful. 

“What’re you still doing here?” Carrigan snapped, shooting him a look as she leafed through the construction papers he’d given her to sign. A remarkably large amount of paperwork was involved in knocking a house down, even a condemned one. 

“Sorry,” Paul said, wondering if he’d have the strength to stand as he pushed himself up. His jaw ached, but he managed to add, “Give me a call if you want me to—”

“Wait.”

He froze. She was perusing him now, not the papers, eyes fixed on him like a wild cat on its prey. She was only half an inch taller than him in heels, but he felt barely two feet tall as she looked him up and down, approaching the no doubt pathetic figure he cut. Was she going to slap him? He deserved it, probably. 

Her hand reached to him, but instead of hitting him, she adjusted his tie knot, straightening it and his collar. Taking another drag on her cigarette, she flashed him one of her sly, crooked smiles. “Wouldn’t want anyone seeing you untidy. People might talk.” 

Paul swallowed, nodding obediently. “You’re right. Thank you.” 

As he reached the door, she called out to him again, stopping him in his tracks. “And change your pants before you set one foot on the driveaway. Take a pair from daddy’s wardrobe.” She laughed. “He doesn’t need them anymore.”

“Yes, Carrigan. Of course.”


End file.
